


At the diner on the corner

by Marvinetta



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvinetta/pseuds/Marvinetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People end up in diners for various reasons. After seeing all the "diner au" and "road trip" photosets on tumblr, I gave the diner idea a try. It didn't come out as an AU, or overly fun, as intended, but it's Bucky finding a place for himself in the world after the events of CA:TWS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the diner on the corner

**Author's Note:**

> "There's a woman on the outside looking inside, does she see me?" Tom's Diner - Suzanne Vega

At first he just took things from the dumpster. He thought he was being sneaky, but he got caught. Instead of getting angry, the lady ordered him inside and gave him a bowl of soup. Free of charge. Just that one time.

When he came back the next day, there was a take out container with a full meal in it sitting by the back door.

Eventually he started using the front door.

He used whatever money he'd stolen, or scammed from other people to pay. It made him feel like an actual person when she'd thank him for the tip and smile warmly. It was better than stealing out of dumpsters.

Eventually she stopped taking his money.

Instead she offered him a job cleaning up the diner. The woman who owned the place, Shannon, lost her husband in the war. He never bothered to ask which one. It didn't really matter. She was nice, and somehow it felt like the nice things she did weren't motivated by pity. She talked constantly, and smiled all the time. He swept the floors, carried the heavy stuff, and she let him crash in the small apartment in the basement.

He could eat whenever he wanted, and whatever he wanted, off the menu. The line cook, Gary, wasn't as good at hiding his pity. Called him “son”, and one day he found himself smiling a little at how absurd it was. A 65 year old man calling him “son”. But the food was good.

The sharp edges on his face were starting to soften by the fall. Food wasn't just something he had to ingest for a mission anymore. It was a ritual he controlled.

At Christmas he sat in his room and cried when Shannon gave him a framed picture from Thanksgiving and a new duffle bag. To remind him he had a place to stay. But just in case he wanted to leave, he had something nicer than trash bags and a stained rucksack that looked like it'd been fished out of a dumpster.

It had been.

So had the few clothes he'd arrived with. Slowly those had been replaced as Gary brought in clothes he didn't need anymore. They weren't Gary's size. They were always his size.

He kept the bag packed at all times with those new clothes. Unzipped, just in case he needed to toss the picture into it as he left.

He wasn't even smiling in the picture. They were all standing around a giant turkey, one of three they'd used to feed anyone who needed a place to go. He was in a room full of war veterans, homeless people, and runaways. It was the first time he'd actually felt at ease since he'd come into town - confused and having nightmares as the years of wiping started to unravel. Flashes of laughing children mingled with blood on his hands. He didn't know how to handle the steady trickle of memories as they leaked out of the farthest corners of his brain.

His hair finally got long enough Shannon had bought him ponytail holders and taught him how to pull it back. She'd offered to cut his hair for him. When he said he wanted to keep it, she'd laughed and said her husband was always looking forward to the day he could grow out his hair and stop shaving. Every soldier went through a rebellious stage.

Steve probably wouldn't have.

The thought stopped him cold. There was no face he could pull up to go with the name. He felt himself start to hyperventilate as the thought shrank back into the corner of his mind it had jumped out of. He couldn't hold on it. There wasn't a face to go with it.

Shannon had apologized and brought him a glass of tea. He either wasn't as good at hiding the panic as he used to be, or she was just that empathetic. He wanted to run downstairs and grab his dufflebag. She wasn't supposed to know he'd been a soldier. Been a weapon.

Instead he let her push him into a chair. Push the glass of tea into his hand. Push a piece of rhubarb pie in front of him.

Then she walked away and carefully watched him as she prepped for the dinner rush.

Maybe he'd died on the helicarrier and this was Heaven. Shannon was nice enough to be an angel. He shook off that thought because there's no way they'd let him in after what he'd done. What he'd become.

He thanked Shannon for the offer, and insisted he wanted to keep his hair for now. He nodded when she said it would get really hot in the summer, and she still had her hair cutting scissors from before she'd opened the diner.

Maybe it was purgatory. Maybe the choices he made here would decide his fate.

Around New Year's a group of drunk kids came in. Normally he hid in the back when loud groups came in, the noise competing with the white noise in head made him grind his teeth. But these kids were different. They were aggressive.

He knew what a man about to start a fight looked like.

The lead drunk kid groped one of the young girls who'd just started earlier that week, Wendy. She came into the kitchen, crying. The guy kept asking her when she got off work. He said he was just going to hang out so he could give her a ride home. Wendy didn't look old enough to drive, let alone have to take shit from drunk people.

If this was purgatory, this was the moment that would decide his fate.

He walked out just as Shannon was telling the kids to leave. The lead drunk kid back handed her and started laughing. Said he wanted another sandwich. She should stop meddling and go do her job.

Angels didn't get treated that way.

He walked over and hauled the kid out of the booth and shoved him towards the door.

The first punch was almost laughably amateur. He didn't even bother to respond, just dodged it and let the kid sprawl on the floor. His friend clearly thought he was more of a threat. The name of his MMA school was all over his shirt. Gary's grandson did MMA, so he’d heard all about it. That punch he actually had to dodge, and responded with a jab to the throat. Clearly it wasn't a good school.

The third punch landed squarely on his cheek. He hadn't expected the third kid to actually do anything.

That kid's face met the table very quickly. Partly for the punch, partly for actually surprising him.

The room went quiet, and he realized he'd just taken out three large guys with three hits. Normal people didn't do that. He should have acted normal. Normal didn't make an entire diner go silent.

Shannon had the phone in her hand, not saying anything.

Gary was hugging the waitress who had stopped crying, her face completely devoid of color.

Sirens were approaching.

He felt the panic well up in his chest at the stricken look on Shannon's face. He retreated to the basement.

He was zipping the picture into the dufflebag when the door opened. Shannon said the cops would want his statement when they got there, but he had some time. He could either talk to them, or she'd unlock the back gate for him. There was an old Chevy back there he could borrow. The key was in the ashtray.

His hand shook as he moved the zipper the last few inches.

She was sorry this happened. Sorry he'd had to revert to someone he clearly was running from. She was sorry this was how it was going to end. Wendy wanted to thank him, if there was time before he left.

Shannon thanked him for giving her someone to look after. She couldn't save her husband, but she tried to save every lost soul that came through her door. She was sorry she failed him.

The fake paperwork at the bottom of his bag was high quality. Even if he got arrested, they'd never connect him to his past.

Or there was an old Chevy in the back lot with a key in the ashtray.

He put the picture back on top of the dresser.

Even if this was purgatory, it was better than anything else he could remember.

The look of relief on Shannon's face when she walked with the police into the kitchen was proof enough for him. If he'd just been tested, he'd passed.


End file.
